


Luminescence

by Dee_Laundry



Series: My Fathers' Son [7]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene from House and Wilson’s 2009 end-of-year holiday season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luminescence

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through episode 3-10 (Merry Little Christmas). This fic is a birthday present for the utterly awesome [](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisylily**](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/), who wanted happy House/Wilson on the couch. Thanks to [](http://nightdog-barks.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_barks**](http://nightdog-barks.livejournal.com/) and [](http://perspi.livejournal.com/profile)[**perspi**](http://perspi.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

James Wilson switched off the last lamp and settled himself on the couch contentedly. The battle over getting the Christmas tree had been epic, and he’d been forced to call in reinforcements in the person of Blythe House, but the pleasant scene in front of him made it all worth it. The colored lights, popcorn strings, and simple ornaments, along with the presents piled underneath, made a tableau that even House would have to admit was serene.

He smiled as the man himself flopped onto the couch on his back and then laid his head in Wilson’s lap. Wilson placed his left hand lightly on House’s chest, comforted by the steady rise and fall, and used his right to stroke House’s hair.

“Tired?” he asked. A silly question, but something to say.

“Exhausted. This was a good night, but a long one. Thank God my parents have gone to bed, at least.” House wrapped his right hand around Wilson's left, and then turned his head to the side.

“Yeah, OK, it’s kind of nice to have a tree,” he reluctantly admitted. “Clean-up is going to be a bear, a lot harder than just packing up the menorah was, but the lights aren't half-bad.”

Wilson smiled again. “I like them. But they’re not nearly as gorgeous as the lights we saw tonight.” House had taken them all to a holiday light festival: acres of gorgeous white lights in intricate, beautiful patterns spread throughout an evergreen forest. “Those were just – magical. How did you ever find that place?”

House turned his face back toward Wilson and smirked. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“You made Cameron find it, didn’t you?”

With a gentle shrug, House replied, “I had Chase researching it, too.”

“Not Foreman?”

“He was already on vacation.”

House turned back toward the tree, and they stayed there in silence for a few minutes. A sense of peace settled over Wilson. House’s hand was warm around his hand; House’s head was warm on his lap and under his palm. It felt like – and might have been – months since they’d had the chance to sit alone and enjoy each other’s presence.

It was either the thump of his head hitting the back of the couch or House’s laugh that woke Wilson up.

“I told you Christmas trees were boring,” House said as he sat up.

Glaring, Wilson reached out and wrapped his arm around House’s shoulders, pulling them back together so they were sitting next to each other. House came willingly and even put his head on Wilson’s shoulder.

“I’m not bored,” Wilson replied. “I’m just… happy.”

“I know.”

In the glow of the tree’s lights, Wilson waited for a “me too,” but realized he was probably waiting in vain. They’d come a long way together, but happiness was still a concept House fundamentally mistrusted. _Some day_ , Wilson thought.

His next articulated thought, a moment or so later, was _Enough. Enough indulging; there are things to do_.

He gently poked House in the side and said, “You’d better give me my present now.”

House pulled back to look at him and replied fondly, “Greedy bastard.”

Wilson kept his face stern; he needed to convey his seriousness to House. “I’m not opening it in front of your parents.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

Wilson edged away from House a bit and crossed his arms. “I don’t know what it is, but I know _what_ it is. And I’m not interested in your father having a stroke on Christmas Day.”

Eyes raised to the ceiling, House replied, “Sheesh, give a guy a sex toy one time and you’re branded for life.”

“ _Every_ time, House. Every gift-giving occasion, you give me a sex toy. Even that first Christmas, when we'd been together something like two weeks, you gave me a sex toy.”

House smiled and wrapped his arms around Wilson, hugging him even over the crossed arms. “I had _told_ you that you needed to love yourself.”

“Mm hm.” Basking in House’s warmth, Wilson relented a little and uncrossed his arms.

House put his head on Wilson’s shoulder again. “Truthfully, we needed more laughs between us. What better way to convey that than through inappropriate erotic paraphernalia?”

“We did need more laughs.” Wilson wanted to give House a kiss, but the angle was too awkward. He settled for stroking House’s arm. “And Blow-Job Betty, odd though she was, was a much better present than the pile of puke you gave me the year before.”

House stiffened guiltily. “I apologized for that.”

“Insincerely,” Wilson chided him.

“ _And_ sincerely.”

Wilson brought House’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I scared the shit out of myself. Not literally. Unless you cleaned something up without me noticing…”

“Nope.” He kissed House’s hand again. “Left you to clean up your messes yourself. And I have to admit, you did a decent job. Even with Cuddy owning your ass.”

House wiggled restlessly. Sincere compliments were another thing he still had some difficulty trusting. “You know,” he said, “I gave you a sex toy for Christmas that year, too, just belatedly.”

Wilson stopped just as he was about to kiss House’s hand again, and furrowed his brow in confusion. “No, you didn’t.”

“First week in January.” House tugged Wilson’s hand to his own lips and gave it a noisy smack.

“The only thing you gave me that January was a thermometer…” Wilson felt his heart drop. He shoved House off his shoulder and stared at him in disgust. “No. That’s just wrong.”

The wide grin on House’s face made Wilson want to slap him.

“You said it symbolized our equal commitment and skill at medicine! It was a touching apology for calling me a crappy doctor! I had it mounted and hung it up in my office!”

House was now sitting against the opposite arm of the couch. He maneuvered his legs so that both feet were in Wilson’s lap. “Where it makes me smile every time I see it. I cannot _believe_ you never got the joke.”

Wilson had to close his eyes. “Do you do anything sincerely? Ever? Or is everything just one big fucking wisecrack to you?”

“Hey, stop,” House said gently. Pulling his feet from Wilson’s lap, he moved closer again and then stroked a thumb across Wilson’s jaw. “Don’t make that face. Please. It kills me when you make that face.”

Wilson reluctantly turned his head toward House, but refused to look directly at him, choosing the lights of the tree instead. “What else are you laughing at me about?”

House tried to catch his gaze a few times but gave up. He kept his thumb on Wilson’s jaw and his fingers on Wilson’s neck anyway. “I don’t laugh at you. I try to get you to laugh with me. There’s so much crap in the world; we should have a good time whenever we can.”

What House said made sense, but Wilson was having a hard time letting it go. Maybe he wasn’t very trustful of happiness, either. He sighed, “Even if it means not taking _anything_ seriously?”

“You know I take things seriously all the time. More than I should, probably.”

Wilson closed his eyes again. “Just not me.”

House pulled back and dropped his arms, exasperation rolling off him in waves. “How can you say that? Christ. It’s ten o’clock on Christmas Eve, I’m stone cold sober, my parents are in the other room, and I’m planning to go to bed in like ten minutes.”

Surprised, Wilson asked, “How is any of that relevant to this discussion?”

“If it weren’t for you, none of it would be true,” House replied. He looked toward the tree and smirked. “Well, I guess it would still be ten o’clock on Christmas Eve. As far as I can discern, you have no _direct_ control over the space-time continuum.”

“If I did, I think I’d rewind to when you still made sense. That wasn’t that long ago, was it?”

“Let’s think this through with the Socratic method.” House was back against the other arm of the couch; his feet were back in Wilson’s lap, his hands behind his head. “Why are my parents here?”

Sure, he’d play along. “To see you.”

House made the most obnoxious buzzer sound possible and then said, “Try again.”

Wilson nodded; the Houses definitely had a different, stronger motive for visiting. “To see their grandson.”

“Right. And why am I going to bed so early?”

This was an easy one. “Because you’re tired.”

“What’s made me so tired?

A sudden, baser drive pulsed through Wilson, and he smiled, remembering their early morning activities that day. He slid his hand up House’s leg to his inner thigh. “Too much exercise.”

House grabbed his hand and shoved it back. “You’re jumping ahead, which I like, but I’ve got a good speech planned for the end of this, so let’s go step by step. What’s made me so tired?”

Wilson sighed and sat back against the couch. “Having no regularity in your sleep patterns, because Jack’s not sleeping through the night consistently yet. You really shouldn’t give him a bottle in the middle of night; at four months old and a gazillion pounds, he doesn’t need it.”

“Don’t veer off into nagging. Now, why am I stone cold sober?”

“Because… Actually, I don’t know the answer to that one.”

House smiled and poked Wilson with his foot. “Because I want to remember every detail of this holiday. Why would that be?”

Warmth spread in Wilson’s chest. It was the same reason that Wilson had fought for the tree, the same reason he had badgered House into inviting his parents, the same reason he wanted to freeze every moment in amber. “It’s our first holiday season with our son,” he said softly.

House poked him again. “So what’s the central theme of all these answers?”

It was entirely possible that Wilson had a goofy, love-struck look on his face, but he didn’t care. If House wanted to tease him over that, he could name quite a few times when House had sported the same expression.

“Jack,” Wilson breathed.

“Exactly.”

He shrugged. “It certainly shows your dedication to him, but to me…”

A double nudge to Wilson’s chest this time. “You goof. _He’s_ the proof of how seriously I take you. I’m fifty years old and stubborn as hell. ‘Set in his ways’ was invented for me. But I took on the challenge of having a newborn in our house. Best damn decision I ever made, but you’ve got to admit, it’s life-shattering.”

“‘Shattering’ is a bit dramatic.”

House sat up and leaned over toward Wilson again. This time he refused to let Wilson look away, drawing him into a gaze that made him hold his breath. “Shattering. Old life gone, smashed into bits. New life, better life, here. All because of you. Because I wanted to give you a baby, a part of me to hold onto, to have after I’m gone. Because I wanted to watch you raise our child because I knew you’d be amazing at it.”

Wilson was finding it hard to breathe and hard to think. A tiger was roaring inside his chest. He’d once thought the pitter-patting mewling each wife had engendered was true love, but the raw ardor this man provoked belied that with ease. He threw his arms around House just to steady himself against the onrush.

House kissed him gently just under the ear and whispered, “There’s no one else in the world I would have done this with, would have built this life with. Seems pretty serious to me.”

Wilson blinked and squeezed House tighter. He had to back off now or be consumed. There was no telling what embarrassing thing he might do – scream, or cry, or get caught by Blythe and John drilling their son into the couch.

He took a deep breath, let go, and pushed House away. When he spoke, he was pleased at how steady his voice was. “You should get your stone cold sober ass into bed.”

House nodded and stood up.

When he turned to leave, Wilson continued, “But you don’t have to go to _sleep_ immediately, do you?”

Even in the dim light, Wilson could make out that leer. “I think I could spare a few minutes.”

“Good.” Wilson was interrupted in the process of standing by House’s cane in his chest. He looked up and saw House pointing at one of the packages under the tree.

“Bring your present.”


End file.
